Sanctuary
by Suilven
Summary: It was painfully obvious that the city was affecting Theron horribly. Perhaps, there was something he could do to help. M!Mahariel/Zevran


**Sanctuary**

His Warden was not doing well here. Zevran could see it in the slight slump of his shoulders as they walked. There were other clues, too. His eyes were rimmed with shadows and more and more of the contents of his plate were surreptitiously ending up in the dog's belly rather than his own. Theron was hiding it quite well, of course, but _he_ was not fooled.

Denerim was much like the other large cities he had visited or dwelt in over the years. It was noisy and crowded, more so now with the increased number of refugees straggling in from towns that had been swallowed up by the darkspawn. The alleyways stunk of refuse and human waste with the underlying aroma of wet mabari that seemed to hang over this country like some sort of low-lying fog. While he did like the way that Theron walked a little closer to him now, he did not like that he did so with a nervous sort of twitch in his step. The rest of their group continued on, oblivious, except perhaps for the witch. She was uneasy, too.

It should not have come as a surprise that this was going to be difficult for his Warden. Compared to the fluidity in his movements and his relaxed laughter when they had entered the Brecilian Forest, this was a different person. While Zevran had held his tongue for the first few days, clearly things were not getting better.

"Have you never been to a city this large?" Zevran asked. He deliberately kept the tone of his voice low and soothing.

Theron shook his head. "No. Never."

"It is not so bad, once you are acclimated to it."

"Perhaps."

Theron lapsed into a brooding silence once more and Zevran abandoned his attempt at conversation, at least for now. It had taken a long time to gain the prickly elf's confidence and he was not about to throw all that effort away by intruding into where he was not wanted. Still… it troubled him.

He genuinely liked Theron; he was physically exquisite, as lean and pliant as a reed. Watching him fight still took Zevran's breath away, and he had no doubt that his Masters would have fought like dogs over a scrap of flesh to claim him, had he been unfortunate enough to have been recruited by the Crows as a youth.

The sweeping tattoos—no, _vallaslin_, Theron had called them—that were etched across his pale cheekbones had reminded Zevran of the graceful halla they had seen in the Dalish camp. When he had mentioned as much to Theron, the elf had looked at him carefully, stern enough that Zevran had begun to think that he had offended in some way. Yet, that night as they took their watch by the fire, Theron had unexpectedly shared that he had been marked for his patron deity, _Ghilan'nain_—the Mother of the Halla—and had spent most of their watch telling him of her story and that of the other Creators.

Along with his physical beauty, he was highly intelligent with a dry sense of humor, once he felt comfortable enough to speak. Theron's powers of observation, honed from years of hunting and stealth, rivaled his own. For once, Zevran felt as if he had found an equal, and… a friend. It was a strange feeling, one that had unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

After several more days of watching Theron pretend that he was fine, Zevran had had enough. It was time for action.

oOoOo

Theron curled deeper under his blankets, not that it helped. Even the air here smelt _wrong_. There were no birds aside from the odd pigeon, certainly nothing that sang; no animals aside from mangy cats and rats that prowled the gutters searching for food. He felt shriveled and wilted from the lack of green, a powerful longing for the delicate scent of new growth overtaking him. This place was dead. How anyone lived here without wasting away was beyond him.

He had gone to bed early after another meal largely left uneaten, his stomach sore and clenched into knots. Only another week or so and then they would be on the road again.

There was a soft knock on the door. "Warden?"

He recognized the assassin's voice. Theron had noticed the curious glances that Zevran had been giving him since they'd arrived in the city—how could he not?—and knew that he had sensed his discomfort. Very little went unobserved by the former Crow, one of the things Theron admired most about him.

Though he was in little mood for company, there was no point in _not_ answering. It wasn't as if he was going to get much sleep anyway. Zevran had been out in the city on his own for most of the day and Theron hadn't seen him since breakfast; he'd had a few errands to run, he'd said… whatever that meant.

Theron sat up, pushing the covers off brusquely, before crossing the room and opening the door. The assassin stood in the hallway, looking relaxed and comfortable in a manner that made Theron slightly envious of his demeanor. "What can I do for you, Zevran?"

"Well, my Warden, I could not help but notice how much the city has… affected you. You have been good to me, and I wanted to do something for you."

"I appreciate the thought, but there is nothing you can do. Until we leave this place, I must endure."

Zevran smiled. "Trust me, my friend. This will help. I promise."

Theron hesitated for a moment. "I cannot promise I will agree to it, but tell me what you propose."

"Telling would ruin the surprise. Come, I will show you."

Though he doubted that whatever the assassin had planned was going to help, he did not wish to hurt him with an outright refusal. "All right."

"Most excellent! Please, my room is this way." Zevran turned and headed down the corridor, pausing once to look behind him to make sure that Theron was following. A nervous knot coiled in his stomach, making him feel worse than before. He had already declined the Antivan massage that Zevran had offered him some time ago, honestly a little hurt by how quickly the assassin had been willing to throw his dignity away. "Are you ready?" He turned to Theron with a gentle smile.

"Yes."

"Will you humor me a little and close your eyes?"

"Close my eyes? This isn't some sort of—"

Zevran placed his hand over his heart and gave a small bow. "On my honor, I solemnly swear there is nothing untoward."

The assassin had been nothing but true to his word so far. "Very well."

"Close your eyes, my Warden. I am going to take your hand so you do not stumble, yes?" Theron nodded and closed his eyes, immediately feeling Zevran's warm fingers envelop his own. He heard the door open and then there was a sudden rush of scents and sounds that threatened to overwhelm him. "No peeking. Take a few steps first." Theron stepped forward, his bare feet settling on something spongy and soft and blissfully cool. It felt like—but, how could that even be possible? The door closed behind him, and he vaguely realized that he was holding tightly to Zevran's hand. "Open your eyes."

Theron did as he was asked, his mouth falling open in surprise. They were standing at the edge of a grove of old trees, their trunks large and wrinkled with branches reaching far up into the shadowed canopy above. In the center of the clearing, a campfire burned cheerfully, chasing away the darkness with its warm glow. He inhaled deeply—the air here was… fresh. He could pick out the hint of decay, old growth breaking down, and the vibrant earthiness of new shoots growing, tender and green. There was a thick haunch of meat roasting on a spit over the flame, making his mouth water.

He finally managed to tear himself away long enough to look at Zevran, who was watching him with a tentative smile. "You like?"

It was hard to even articulate his thoughts. Even now, he was noticing that the ground beneath his feet was plush with a combination of moss and grasses impossibly tipped with evening dew. "How—how is this possible? What is this place?"

"I am sorry to say that it is still my room, just… enhanced."

"But, it all seems so real." Even looking behind him, there was forest all around. The only thing out of the ordinary was the door, seemingly floating in the middle of the path. He reached out a hand and touched the bark of the closest tree. It felt perfectly real. Solid. Rough. "How did you do this?"

Zevran shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "I offered our resident witch a favor and she accepted."

"You made a deal with Morrigan?" Theron's eyebrows quirked up. "Dangerous business there. I am not worth that."

"It is not so bad. She has been almost as uneasy as you in the city, so when I asked about the possibility of creating an illusory sanctuary, she was more than amenable once we worked out the details. I obtained the lyrium she would require, and she has exclusive use of the room during the day, though it is ours—yours—at night. I have also, sadly, committed myself to doing her laundry for the next month, but she wears so little that I do not think that will be much of a hardship."

An owl hooted overhead, and Theron swore he could hear the beating of wings vanish into the distance. "This is incredible. I… am overwhelmed. Thank you."

Zevran squeezed his hand and released it. "You need to eat. Come." They approached the fire together and the assassin gestured at him to sit. "I was not able to procure everything that I wanted, but hopefully this will be sufficient." He handed Theron a wooden bowl full of green herbs and edible leaves that had been sprinkled with dried berries and some sort of seeds that he was not familiar with. "Eat. Please."

His first bite revealed that mixture had also been lightly dressed with what he thought was a mixture of oil and fruit juice. It tasted better than anything he could ever remember eating, and his stomach grumbled loudly. As he devoured it all with little thought to proper decorum, Zevran carefully took the haunch of meat from off the fire and left it to rest before helping himself to a bowl of greens as well. When they both had finished, Zevran set the bowls aside and carved large portions of meat for each of them, which Theron was pleased to discover was venison encrusted with fragrant herbs.

"This—so—fantastic…" He could barely get out the words between bites.

"I'm glad, my Warden. You have not been eating enough." The assassin heaped another helping on his plate and Theron was more than happy to oblige him.

When the meat was gone, Zevran wiped out the bowls that had held their first course and piled them high with more dried berries and a sweetened yogurt that, while it was not exactly the same as the type the Dalish used, was very close. His stomach was aching, but satisfied, as he rubbed his fingers clean on the grass beside him.

"Now, the final part of our meal." The former Crow produced a bottle of wine and handed him a glass, raising his own high. "To you, my friend."

Theron lifted his glass up as well. "No, to _you_. I am beyond honored. I don't know how I will ever be able to repay you for such a gift."

"There is no need. You have given me more than you will ever know."

Theron took a sip of his wine and looked up at the assassin in shock. "How did you get this? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, after all the other miracles you have somehow achieved tonight." He tasted it again to be sure and there was no doubt in his mind; this was a wine made from the berries his clan had called _sula'dane_, aptly translated in the common tongue as 'crowberries.'

"I confess that obtaining this was not easy. You may rest assured that its previous owner was not worthy of it."

They drank the wine in silence, listening to the sounds of the forest. Through the leaves above them, Theron couldn't help but shake his head again in wonderment at the stars that twinkled there. All the tension of the past few weeks had ebbed away, leaving him feeling relaxed and free. He smiled warmly at Zevran. "I know I have said it already, but thank you."

"You are most welcome. Now, let us sit and watch the stars and you will sleep, yes?" He pulled Theron up and led him over to the base of one of the largest trees where several blankets had been laid out. "Sit," he instructed. Theron sat down and tugged one of the blankets around him; the air was noticeably cooler here, away from the fire. "Now, I will leave you. Sleep well, my Warden."

"Wait—are you not staying?"

Zevran turned back. "I will, if you would like. But, I will not be offended if you wish some time alone."

"No, I would like you to stay." Theron pulled one hand free from beneath the blanket and gestured at the ground right next to him.

"As you wish." Zevran sunk down gracefully, wrapping himself in a blanket as well.

He didn't know how long they sat like that, side by side with his head resting lightly on Zevran's shoulder, but it felt _good_. He was warm and comfortable, his ears full of the song of crickets and the faint and familiar rustles of the forest. He could smell the soap that the assassin favored, subtly reminding him of who had done this for him.

"_Lethallin_?" he whispered.

"Yes, my friend?"

"I am very grateful to have you in my life. No one has ever done anything like this for me."

He lifted his head as Zevran turned to look at him. "You saved me. I could do this for you every night for the rest of my life and that debt would still not be repaid."

"There is no debt. After all we have been through, I owe you my life many times over." Theron leaned over to kiss the assassin's cheek, but somehow, with the headiness of being so close to him, he moved to his mouth instead. Zevran's lips were soft under his own as his chaste kiss lingered, becoming something _more_.

Zevran was kissing him back tenderly, his lips parting just enough to deepen the contact between them. They explored each other's mouths slowly, with the gentleness of newly awakened desire. The assassin pulled back first, caressing the line of Theron's jaw with the backs of his fingertips. "I would… like to see where this leads, if you are interested, but not tonight. Tonight, you need some rest."

"That would make me very happy, I think."

"Good. Now, sleep, before you force me into giving you some sort of nasty sleeping draught." Zevran kissed him gently once more before gathering Theron into his arms and leaning back against the tree.

Theron settled in against the assassin's chest as Zevran rewrapped the blankets to cover both of them. The pulse of Zevran's heart beneath his cheek and the fingers smoothing over his hair were making him drowsy, and he found his eyes closing.

"Sleep well, _mi amor_."

He did not know what the words meant, but he understood the tenderness in the expression all the same.

"Good night, _emma vhenan,_" he whispered back.

In each other's arms, beneath the stars with the wind sighing through the trees, they slept.

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><p><em>emma vhenan<em> – my heart

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><p><em>AN: This story is for the lovely ventisquear for her birthday. I hope you like it and I hope you have a wonderful day! :) A huge thank you to Josie Lange for the beta!_


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